Friday, June 13, 2014

When Is Rape The Victim's Fault?


When is it okay to rape someone and claim it was their fault?

I've pondered this question very seriously for the past week and I haven't been able to change my answer no matter how many angles or how many arguments I hear for one side or the other - and yes, there are sides to this and there are, indeed, people who believe that in some cases, sometimes it is the victim's fault. 

So I'd like to, purely for the sake of argument and as an exercise in "Devil's Advocacy", explore the arguments and see if, somehow, I will come up with a different answer.

We've all heard the myriad ways in which women are explicitly or implicitly blamed for rape - "what was she wearing?", "who goes out dressed like that, getting drunk, at that time of night?", "if she's going to act like that, all provocative, then she's asking for it"... and the list goes on...

The case of the woman who was recently gang-raped in the middle of Tahrir Square in Cairo last week while a couple of thousand people stood by and watched ignited a firestorm of vitriol and spurred discussions and arguments galore, in some cases shedding a frightening light on where some people stand vis-a-vis this issue. I personally saw some social media comments from people who earnestly argued that "rape isn't always the woman's fault, but sometimes it is..." In fact, one guy went so far as to make the case that "sometimes women dress up all provocatively... women are sly and cunning foxes and they should use their cunningness to know when it is okay to provoke a man." Yes. Seriously. Someone said that. 

Now, I know this may seem like a rather extreme point of view and not one that is shared by many, but that's simply not true. Maybe not everyone who feels this way would necessarily put it as crassly, but the truth is that far too many men and women actually believe that, in some cases, the way women dress, drink, talk, act, think, breathe and live, puts part of the responsibility of their assault and violation on their own damn shoulders. Once I get over my urge to vomit, I am actually so intrigued by this mindset. Intrigued in that way that the Nazis intrigue me; intrigued in that way that serial killers intrigue me; intrigued in that way that justifiers of rape intrigue me.

So, let's break down these arguments and see where they lead, shall we?

In the land of the purely hypothetical, let's consider this all-too-common scenario:

Once upon a time, a woman in her 20s goes out for a night on the town with her friends. She is wearing a cute little skirt and a sleeveless top in red. She has on her heels and lets her hair down for a change - couple that with a little sexy make-up and, well, there you go... sexy mama.

At the bar, she has a few drinks. Maybe a few too many. She dances, she flirts, she drinks some more and maybe she gets a little drunk. At one point during the night, she meets a guy. A nice enough guy, but not anyone she is particularly interested in, but you know, she's in a good mood - she's feeling sexy and loving the attention. She somehow ends up at this guy's house. She's a little drunk and she's sleepy and she asks to lie down. He takes her to his room and puts her on his bed and leaves her there for a few hours. Later that night, when he's ready to go to sleep, he gets in bed next to her and he starts to take her clothes off. Still a little drunk, she wakes up in a semi-daze and notices this stranger on top of her, removing her clothes and whispering sweet nothings in her ear... she tries to push him off, he won't budge. He just keeps cajoling her, gently at first, and then a little more forcefully (but not so forceful that it can be considered violent, yet forceful enough that she can't get out from under his man-weight)... all the while, he keeps telling her "but you're so sexy... you know you are... you know you want this, you know it will feel good..." and she keeps  saying "no" and she keeps trying to push him away and he ignores it all and, finally he pushes himself inside her. And then, he has sex with her. He has sex with her because he wants to. He has sex with her even though he knows(because she tells him) that she doesn't want to. 

The next morning, she wakes up and truly cannot recall where she is, who she is with and what happened. Who is this man in bed next to her? Oh my God, did she have sex with this man? Fuck, did he use a condom? What the fuck happened last night?

Quickly, she gathers her stuff, puts on her clothes and goes home... she spends the next week trying to piece together the events of that night. In her own mind, she goes through all the questions - "was I too drunk? Was I too flirtatious? Was I too sexy? Did I say 'no' loudly enough? Forcefully enough? Oh my God, did I ask for this?" 

"Holy shit, was I raped?"

The answer is: yes. Unequivocally. Undoubtedly. Inarguably. Yes. She was raped. And there is absolutely no other answer to that question. There are no "ands, ifs, or buts" about it. 



The definition of rape is as follows:
  1. the unlawful compelling of a person through physical force or duress to have sexual intercourse
  2. any act of sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person
You see, to qualify as rape, the sex doesn't have to be violent. It doesn't have to be gruesome. It doesn't have to be in a dark alley, or on a dark street, or in the middle of a war, or in the middle of a square in a huge city like Cairo. It doesn't have to leave physical scars. It doesn't have to leave any visible signs. It only has to be that a man sticks his penis into a woman when she doesn't want it, or a woman forces herself onto a man when he doesn't want it, or any variation thereof. It only has to be that a person violates another person, and forces themselves on her/him (or in her) against their will and wishes. 

Now, here's the problem I have with the arguments FOR the responsibility being borne by the victim in this, or any, case: 

When did it become okay to excuse the forceful violation of a person's body in the name of man's "animal instinct"? When did it become okay to respond to the news of the rape of a woman by asking "what was she wearing?" What the fuck difference does it make what she was wearing?? Seriously? If she was wearing full on niqab, is THAT what makes the rape a crime? But if she's in a mini-skirt and heels, suddenly the question of blame is open for discussion? 

Well, that might depend on where you are. If you're in Saudi Arabia, where women are legally forced to cover their hair, if a woman's veil slips off and her lascivious hairline makes an appearance, would a Saudi man have the right to rape her and then claim "well, look at what she was wearing?" If a woman wears her jeans a little too tightly and walks down the street, minding her own goddamn business, and a group of teenage boys jump her and rape her, is it suddenly okay to blame her tight, ass-contouring jeans for this assault? That makes just about as much sense as my justifying sticking a hot poker into a man's rectum and sodomizing him because "his ass looks so fine in them jeans, and I just couldn't help myself. He asked for it, walking around with an ass like that"; or, more realistically, my punching you in the face because you "provoked" me by saying something completely and utterly stupid; something like "well, some women are to blame for their own rape." 

The problem is that there is a huge difference between being responsible for the provocation of another person's lust and desire (and FYI - this applies to both men and women), and being responsible for the violation of your person. HUGE difference. 

Look, if a woman goes out and seduces a man by acting in a way that is seductive, sexual, lewd; if she gyrates up and down his crotch, if she reveals a little too much skin, if she speaks suggestively and does everything short of personally placing a man's penis into her vagina, am I saying that's appropriate or necessarily smart behavior? No, I am not. Am I suggesting that the man does not get aroused and want sex with this woman? No, I am not. But, for God's sake, if you're a man and you find yourself in this situation and suddenly begin to feel this "uncontrollable" urge to pounce on her and violate her body without her express consent, then, frankly, you should seriously just walk the fuck away. 

Yes. Even if you're really, really turned on. And even if she really, really "provoked" you. Saying that a man can't "control" himself because he's a man is a fucking ridiculous argument because the whole fucking point of being a HUMAN versus an ANIMAL is that you are graced with the ability to fucking control yourself. 

It is debasing and disgraceful to humankind for the argument to be based on some animalistic instinct; one that, by the way, tends to be used ONLY to explain men's behaviors; when a woman loses control and goes apeshit in a violent way, she is assumed to be PMSing, or insane or psycho, she is never excused, or more horrifically, JUSTIFIED, for her behavior based on her "animal instinct" - for the love of God, keep it in your fucking pants and walk away.

Is it possible that some women and men send out mixed messages regarding the extent of sexual activity they're willing to engage in? Sure. Is it possible that some women behave in ways that suggest that perhaps they just might be up for a hump in the sack? Sure - doesn't everyone? Is it possible that maybe some women's behaviors betray a lack of self-esteem and self respect? Perhaps, depending on your subjective definition and expectation of self-esteem and respect. But in any of those cases, does a woman DESERVE to be raped? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Not ever. 

We have to be careful when we begin placing moral and value judgments on women's behavior from the vantage point of how these behaviors affect men's incapacity to control their "animal penises" from attacking women's vaginas. Seriously. This is not the issue. The issue isn't what she was wearing, or what time she was out in the night, or what area of town she was seen in - those are not the behaviors that should serve as the benchmark for measuring what percentage of the responsibility for her rape she should bear. If a straight guy walks into a gay bar and gets raped in the bathroom, do you think for a second anyone would ask: "Well, I mean, what was he wearing?" Give me a fucking break. 

And when we say we don't agree with the danger women are in, but that we have to "accept that this is the reality", I want to scream. Because you know what else has historically been excused as the reality? For one thing, segregation. If every black person in the United States had simply accepted the "reality" of their position in society, where would we be today? You know what else was an accepted "reality"? Ask any Jew or non-Aryan who was placed in a concentration camp during World War II and marched into a gas chamber because of the "reality" of the times? I accept the REALITY that there are people who exist today who are capable of justifying the rape of women because they have some fucked up notion of how a woman should act or dress - but just because this is real doesn't mean that it's acceptable. I mean, stop that, please.

And while we're on the subject, I am not someone who necessarily sits on the side of the argument that claims that women should walk down the street naked and do whatever the fuck they want, but that's not because I think they should be worried about being raped for it, but simply because I PERSONALLY feel that showing a little less skin is a little more classy. I love my breasts as much as the next girl, but I don't necessarily want them on public display and I PERSONALLY don't love the look of extra tight, extra skin baring, sexy attire. But that's me. Do I sometimes look at a girl and think "Oh honey, cover that shit up?" You bet your ass I do. And anyone who purports to never thinking something along those lines is lying. But never, not ever, not even for a split second do I think: "You know, if you get raped for acting this way, you fucking deserve it." Not ever.



Wouldn't we do well as a society to reflect a little on what we're doing to our girls? Over the past few months, the state of women and girls in our world has been weighing very heavily on me. In a nutshell, the bottom line is that the female sex, worldwide, is kind of screwed. We are generally not safe. We're not safe in times of war, and we're not particularly safe in times of peace. We're not safe at every stage of our lives. Even in the most insidious ways, the odds are generally stacked against us. I mean, seriously, what kind of fucking world is this where a girl has to fear for her life simply because she chooses to get an education? What kind of world is this where a woman needs to wonder if her skirt is short enough to invite some man to jump her, rape her and get away with it? What's the standard of measure here? Are 2 inches above the knee too much? What time is it okay for a woman to be out alone before the pumpkin carriage turns into a rapist and it's her fault for missing some arbitrary curfew? Is 2 AM too late? What's the magic hour? You see how insanely ridiculous these measures are? And if you don't, what can we possibly do to make you see? 

Instead of focusing so intensely on all the ways in which women can protect themselves in this world from the "big, bad man", couldn't we just take a moment and teach our sons a little about respect and restraint and what to do when your erection gets so bad, you suddenly feel like getting violent against a woman, and how no matter how much you WANT to fuck her and hurt her, you really, really, REALLY just can't fucking do that? Couldn't we just do that, for God's sake? 

And that girl who seemed like she was totally up for sex up until the moment it was time for sex and then she changed her mind? Yeah, even THAT girl doesn't actually deserve to be raped. You can get mad her, you can be really bummed that it didn't quite work out the way you'd planned, but you can't rape her. 

Do you have any idea how many or how often men change their minds about women? "I love you, I want you, I will always be faithful to you"; "oops, no, hang on... I'm not actually that into you anymore, I slept with someone else..." - if we started abusing every man who "led us on" and provoked the shit out of us, trust me, there would be a MAJOR man shortage on this planet. And imagine if our reasons were based on his clothes? Some might argue that the urge to beat or abuse another human being is different than an urge that is sexual in nature. I beg to differ. My desire to punch some of my ex-boyfriends is pretty fucking strong. But you know why I don't, even though they provoke the shit out of me? Because I can fucking control myself, that's why.

Instead of asking about what she was wearing, couldn't we ask why the rapist feels compelled to "punish" a woman for her clothes or her behavior or her opinions or her choice of location at her choice of time? In fact, can't we ask ourselves why SOCIETY feels compelled to punish a woman for her clothing, her choice of shoes, her choice of make up and her sexy, wily ways? Because if we don't do that, what are we teaching ourselves, our sisters, our sons and daughters? 

And what happens to this argument when the rape victim is a woman jogging in the park at dawn; being neither sexual nor provocative in any way? What happens then? You know what happens? We say things like "well, she knows the park is a dangerous place to be in at dawn. Who does that?" And if she's veiled and completely covered with nary an ankle or piece of flesh in sight, and she gets raped in a public street, what do we say then? You know what we say? We say "well, she knows there are so many men who gather at this square, who goes to the square alone at that hour?" You see, no matter what the circumstance, the tendency for us is to first want to establish what SHE did wrong to invite this assault. Only when all the pieces are in place for us to determine the LEVEL of her exposure, provocation, you name it; only THEN do we begin to determine whether or not she may have had a part to play in the crime committed against her. I'm sorry, but that's just royally fucked up. The truth is that in any civilized society, in a society that engrains values of respect among its citizens for one and another and the respect for boundaries, a normal person would know that no matter what the circumstance, no woman ever deserves rape as a punishment for her perceived sin. Nobody, man or woman, "asks" to be raped. It's that simple. This is not an issue that is open for discussion. The fact that it is a discussion is what scares me the most.

Are we honestly saying that the world is so evil out there that, if you happen to be unlucky enough to be born with a vagina, well, watch out - keep yourself on the defensive at all times, shut your mouth, keep your legs crossed, keep your head down and stay home after dark, because the other 48% of the world's population just might, unintentionally and instinctively, get the wrong idea and you might find yourself with a penis in your vagina, against your will, all because you went out looking like that and, dammit girl, you asked for it?

Stop that ridiculousness.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Sistah, Sister...

Nihal at 4 years old

Sistah, Sister


Let me tell you a little about my sister.

Today is her 40th birthday.

Today would also have been our father's 67th birthday. Nihal was our father's present on his 27th birthday, which I think is just awesome. I also know this day will suck for her because our father died last year and this is their first shared birthday without him, but I suspect it will always suck; and there's not much anyone can do about that. Alas.

My sister is kind of the most amazing person on the planet; and I know that I'm biased and totally incapable of being objective about this, but the truth is, there is no denying this fact - the fact of her awesomeness, so biased or not - it's the truth!


THE EARLY YEARS

Nihal was born in Nairobi, Kenya on June 1st, 1974. Being born in Kenya, Nihal, even in her earliest years, simply could not understand why it was that she was "Kenyan" and yet "white"; as in, not "black", like others from Kenya? This defied all logic as far as she was concerned, and for years she could be overheard telling people that she was "Kenyan, but a white Kenyan, for some weird reason..."

As a baby, Nihal was HUGE. I mean, like, ENORMOUS. Let me give you some context for scale - I was two years old and probably weighed only a tad more than the 6 lbs. I had weighed at birth. At birth, Nihal popped out at a whopping 8 lbs. 10 oz (or thereabouts); which might explain why her second child, Adam, was born at 9 lbs. 10 oz., but more on that another time. In pictures, if Nihal was positioned in front of me, she might as well have been an only child, is all I'm saying...

Nihal was a TOTAL tomboy. The EXACT opposite of her sister (that would be me), who was a TOTAL non-tomboy in pretty much every sense of the word. While I played with Mom's heels and make-up, Nihal was running after our German Shepherd, Simba, and catching snakes. But I loved her immensely, despite our extreme differences.


Nihal and our cousin, Sarah, the family tomboys

I loved her so much, in fact, that even before she was born, I had already claimed her as "my baby". As a kid, saying the name "Nihal" was a little tough for me, so I called her "Inal" for a long time. Now, I just call her "Nihos" or "Nyhal", but I still love her with the same intensity - and probably even a little bit more.

NIHAL AND THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

My sister loved animals practically from the time she came out of the womb. Unlucky for her, animals were not always so fond of her. Three (or maybe, four) incidents stick out in my mind from our childhood that very positively portray this fact: One, the lioness in Kenya who, upon smelling my baby sister, stalked her for a few minutes - even prompting others to warn my parents that "you might want to move your child away from the cage, that lioness seems mighty focused on her", right before the lioness lunged at my sister quite violently and suddenly. Thank God for the wire-caged fence.

The second incident involved a monkey at the Cairo zoo when Nihal was probably 4 or 5 years old. In Kenya, we were allowed to play with uncaged monkeys if they happened to be pets at someone's home (which was not uncommon). Not so much the norm in Cairo, but Mom didn't know better at the time. Nihal stuck her fingers through the monkey's cage, the monkey was less than pleased, and let's just say there was a lunge, a hard bite and a chomp into a child's little fingers, lots of screaming and a trip to the doctor for rabies shots.

The third, and most traumatic, animal encounter of all was when a neighbor's German Shepherd went a little maniacal at the scent of my 6 year old sister and, being twice her size, lunged for her jugular, missed it by a hair and proceeded to drag her listless body across the street while I screamed hysterically (like an 8-year-old would) and the owner of the dog, inexplicably, pulled at the dog in the opposite direction, essentially ensuring that my sister would be torn to shreds. So, that was fun. And, another trip to the doctor for yet another round of rabies shots.

This is not to mention the one time our family took a trip to Singapore, visited a monkey sanctuary where the monkeys were free roaming and the next thing you know, our entire family - Me, Nihal, Mom and Dad - are being chased through the park (I kid you not) by a family of monkeys; screaming, laughing, yelling and running like hell. Naturally, we blamed it all on Nihal and her damn animal-repellant pheromones.

All I'm saying is, don't take my sister to a zoo or a circus, ok? You'll regret it. I guarantee it.

THE MIDDLE YEARS

My sister and I were great friends from about the ages of 0-11 (2-13 for me)... and then, we parted ways for a spell. Partly because we were SO different, and mostly because I was an asshole teenager. It's the truth. I think there was a good ten years when my sister just thought of me as "that asshole who lives with us", and I don't blame her, but enough about me.

As a teen, my sister was the child any parent would want. She was obedient, yet independent. She was athletic and didn't bother with nuisances like boys and make-up and sneaking cigarettes and alcohol like her asshole sister. No, this was a teenager who got up at the crack of dawn to run track or play basketball. And she was kind of hilarious. Actually, she was VERY hilarious. She made our family laugh, especially during times of extreme tension, like, if I had been caught sneaking out of the house, or caught skipping school or some other rebellious, ridiculous teenage shenanigans for which I was renowned. She served as a much needed buffer and detractor  which was great because it distracted my parents from kicking my ass!

At some point in college, our relationship broke. She found me too reckless, I found her too conservative. We went our separate ways and just couldn't quite "get" each other. Right after college, she got married, and I moved to the US and over the years that I was away, we started to slowly rebuild our relationship - a process that took years, but has ultimately resulted in the most wonderful and fulfilling of friendships and a bond that is truly unbreakable.





THE BOTTOM LINE

I could go on and on and on about my sister and all the stories and all the ways in which she is fabulous, but that would take a couple of years to note, so in short, here is a snippet of the ways in which my sister's awesomeness make her my absolute most favorite and trusted person on the entire planet:

* She is witty and funny in the most unexpected ways and at the most inopportune moments, which makes her all the funnier. Her kids think she's the MOST hilarious person to walk the earth and the sweetest thing is to see them laugh at their Mom because they enjoy her and not because they want to roll their eyes at her. Her 5-year-old, Adam, came to me once while I was living with them, shaking his head and chuckling. I said "what are you laughing at?" and he held up my phone to me to show me a picture of his mother making a ridiculous face and said "look at my mother; she's so crazy and funny!" There is no bigger compliment than that, in my mind...

* She is patient and compassionate to a fault, but she isn't "gooey" or naive in ANY way at all. Sometimes, she's so patient, I want to slap her across the face to make sure she hasn't actually just fallen into some catatonic state. But, that girl has a threshold and you'd better watch out for your life if you cross it because, believe me, it sneaks up on you like a ninja in the night. You might push her limits for hours, days, months even, but when she breaks - holy mother... run. Hide. Play dead. 

* She is there for everybody. I mean, everybody. Sometimes at the expense of her own sanity (see: losing her shit once the patience has run out description above), and sometimes I think she needs to take a little more time for herself, but it's who she is, and those of us who need her - her friends, me, her husband, her children, everyone - are grateful for her patience and her sound wisdom. Frankly, I'd probably be in prison a few times over by now if it hadn't been for my sister's talks and advice. Seriously. I wish I were joking.

* She sends me the funniest and most dead-pan texts and is unfazed by almost anything. A sample below (I wrote her a text to tell her about my gym experience and my plans... she replies with this):


* When our Dad was sick, my sister was raising two kids, living in Georgia, getting her Master's degree in counseling psychology, and doing most of it alone because her husband was working like crazy to finish his medical residency and I, although I was living between my parents' house in North Carolina and my sister's in Georgia at the time, was completely useless having just come out of a horrific marriage/divorce situation and was practically comatose. My sister managed to take on all of this and STILL made time to bake my father his favorite brownies, drive the four and a half hours to North Carolina from Georgia several times a month for the entire year my Dad was sick. Meanwhile, I could barely get out of bed to brush my teeth. She did this without ever once betraying an ounce of exhaustion or exasperation. She managed babysitters, a master's thesis, a full course load and my father's chemo and the aftermath with such grace and patience, it was almost fucking annoying, frankly. I know our Dad got an extreme kick out of that, though... the fact that she would make that drive and bring him home baked goods just because it's what he needed. I asked her once if she ever just doesn't "feel like doing it", and she said, without hesitation, "never. It's Dad. I'd do anything for him. It's not even a question." She is steadfast in her loyalty to her family and has no question in her mind when something needs to be done; it just needs to be. That's all there is to it.


Nihal receiving her MA with her son, Hussein, by her side


* The year of our father's illness was brutal - on all of us. On my mother, naturally, because the love of her life and her companion of 47 years was dying. On me because, well, it's my Dad; the single most significant man in my life - then, now and forever - and he was sick and he was dying and I had just been traumatized by the brutal and unexpected ending of my marriage and had barely had time to heal when my father was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer, so it was a major double whammy and I was in a coma of sorts. And for Nihal, it was all of that and more. We were each reeling in our way, but she had an army to care for at home, in addition to my mother, my father and me. And she did it all with grace and ease and still made time to be a Mom and a sister and a daughter and a student. 

Nihal The Monkey hanging onto Dad

* Ask any of her friends and they will tell you, Nihal is the best friend a person can have. She is loyal and caring and she gives a hundred per cent of herself without giving it all away (I don't actually know how the fuck she does that and it kind of annoys me to no end, but whatever...) If you need her, she's there for you. And she very, very rarely - if ever - asks for anything in return. She keeps her friends for life and they are fiercely protective of her, as she is of them. As her sister, I can tell you, she is the best friend a sister can have... but even if we weren't sisters, I think she'd still be my best friend, which I think is the greatest thing ever: to know that you not only love your family because they're family, but that you'd actually love them even if you didn't have to!









* She's generous in a way that makes generosity seem like it's running out of style. For 18 months in the past 2 years, I was somewhat adrift in my life. My sister and her husband gave me a home and a place to stay and to live and to heal without even once making me feel unwelcome. I would occasionally say something like "Oh my God, thank you for this..." and Nihal would say, without a moment's hesitation, "are you fucking crazy? It's a no-brainer! You're my sister! You're SUPPOSED to live with me; it's how the world is meant to be", and I am forever grateful to her and her husband for that generosity of spirit. It also gave me the chance to live with my nephews, which is something I cherish beyond anything else. 




And yeah, sure, there are a million ways (okay, maybe not a MILLION), but SOME ways in which she is not perfect... but for the most part, those things are forgivable (like the fact that she has this hilarious tendency to turn every conversation into a "therapy moment" even when all you want to do is just vent - something that makes me laugh but also makes me want to sometimes punch her in the face! I mean, seriously, there are times when I'm not particularly interested in hearing "how does this make you feel, Naila?" and really more interested in hearing her say "wow, what a piece of shit [insert name of villain here] he turned out to be. That really sucks" and that's it, without having to analyze the myriad ways in which I coulda, shoulda, woulda known better had I been more "in tune with your instinct... blah, blah, blah... psychology... Freud... psycho-theory... blah"), but for the most part, she's just a really fun, funny and loving woman and I wouldn't trade her for the world...

Basically, the bottom line is, my sister is a freakin' rock star and I love her to bits and pieces and on her 40th birthday, I think she should know that she is loved, she is appreciated and she is hilarious. Oh, and I think I'll keep her.

(Love you Nihos. Happy Birthday, Patootie :-)